


believe (believe in me)

by WrongSeason



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Marisa Doesn’t Do Emotion, Mary is a good listener, Monkie is just like, Science Girlfriends, Wordcount: 100-1.000, give monkie lov, i love - them, no, only tiny angst, repression Bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongSeason/pseuds/WrongSeason
Summary: “What’s he called?”“She,” Marisa grits, “is called Ozymandias.”~ Or, Marisa Coulter finally addresses some things~
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	believe (believe in me)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I know Marisa is Cold and Calculating™️ but please consider that she is also baby. 
> 
> Title is Tonight, Tonight by The Smashing Pumpkins. 
> 
> Comments do an author good!

“Oh.”

When Mary steps into her office at a little after nine, she is expecting Marisa Coulter to be sat behind her desk. It’s become commonplace over the last week and a half. So much so, that she started to bring two cups of tea on the fourth day. She is not, however, expecting the golden monkey staring at her curiously from its position on her desk. 

“He’s a beauty,” she manages, trying not to freak out that a) _there’s a monkey in her office_ , and b) Marisa is also staring at her. There’s a smirk on her face that is just disarming enough that Mary’s hands start to shake and she spills both mugs of tea a fraction. “What’s he called?”

“She,” Marisa grits, “is called Ozymandias.”

Mary smiles at this and hands Marisa her tea. She sits herself on the sofa setting her own mug down, and waves at the monkey. She hops off the desk and strolls over, sitting at Mary’s feet, returning the wave. Marisa clears her throat, and Mary ignores it. The monkey’s inquisitive look mirrors her own. 

“Care to explain what you’re doing in my office this time?”

The first time it happened, she thought to herself _and how you got in here._

“I’d like to know more about your work.”

Mary looks away from Ozy at this, back at Marisa. Until now, they’d only really spoken about Lyra. She has no doubts about Marisa claiming to be her mother. They have the same fierceness hiding behind their eyes. She is surprised by how little Marisa seems to know about her own daughter. 

“Well I can get you some of my old-“ she stops mid-sentence, distracted by Ozy tugging on one of her fingers. It’s gentle, but insistent. 

“Uh, some of my old papers,” she continues, letting the monkey take her finger between her hands. She removes it, and hesitantly strokes the top of her head. Ozy’s eyes shut, and Mary smiles, continuing the scratching. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice Marisa is sat bolt upright in the office chair. 

That is, until she exhales softly. 

“Are you okay?” Mary stops, pulling her hand away abruptly, and Ozy makes a noise akin to disappointment. 

“Uh,” Marisa falters over her words. “Ozymandias is an…” she pauses again. Not quite sure how to explain a daemon to someone who doesn’t have one. Especially considering her own complicated relationship. Her mind flashes briefly to Asriel and Stelmaria, but she shakes the thought away. 

“She’s essentially my soul. Where I come from, it isn’t very polite to touch someone’s soul.”

Mary makes to apologise, but Marisa holds her hand up to stop her. 

“You didn’t know. And she’s curious.” Punctuated with a shrug. 

Mary swears Ozymandias glares at Marisa. She’s positive when Ozy jumps from the floor into her lap, settling and head butting Mary’s hand. Marisa squirms, unfamiliar with the sensation. Ozy relishes the attention, which makes her fume silently. 

But she can’t exactly say the feeling is unpleasant. It’s almost soothing. It’s been so long since she allowed herself any physical affection, it’s no surprise Ozymandias is feeling an extent of that repression. She grips the arms of the chair tight enough to cause indents in the leather, feeling the ghost of Mary’s scratches against her scalp. Ozy chirrups, and curls up in Mary’s lap, taking what she considers a well deserved nap. 

“Well, looks like I’m trapped!” Mary jokes, chancing a smile and a laugh at Marisa. The other woman, to her credit, un-clenches her fists and returns a half-smile. 

“It seems so.” 

Marisa stands up and rounds the desk, coming to sit next to Mary. 

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” she admits softly. She points at the sleeping monkey, “we’re so disconnected. We don’t have that bond that others do. Your interaction with her reminded me that it isn’t so bad to feel something good.”

Mary remains quiet. She sets one hand on Ozy’s sleeping form, and the other on Marisa’s knee. She’s quiet for a moment, afraid to say anything and break the air of Marisa’s vulnerability. She senses it’s something needed. 

It’s not something done, for Marisa. She doesn’t show people how she’s really feeling. Having learned a long time ago that being in control of your response will get you far. Letting your true feelings show? Not so much. 

“Why do I feel so untethered with you?” Marisa questions, exasperation creeping into her tone. “I’ve only known you a week! Yet, here I am, talking to a near stranger about the most complex facets of my life like I’ve known you an eternity.” 

Mary laughs at this, hearty and enough to break the tension in the room. Amazed that someone so smart can be so dense. Perceptive about so many things but clearly not the natural course of human attachment. 

“You feel untethered?! Marisa, I can hardly look at you without getting flustered. You are so very clever, yet clearly so unappreciated. I don’t know exactly where it is you’re from, but wherever it is, they’ve done you a huge disservice to make you think your life has to be like this. That you aren’t deserving of happiness. Aren’t deserving of having your mind celebrated,” she squeezes her knee reassuringly, and studies the sharp lines of Marisa’s face. Her brow furrows and jaw clenches, like she’s trying to work around what she wants to say. Mary gets the impression that Marisa doesn’t exactly do feelings. 

Marisa looks back at Mary, whose eyes are gentle with their concern, and kisses her. Rather unsure why she feels the urgent need to, but having her lips on Mary Malone’s, and Mary kissing back feels right. 

She feels Ozymandias wake, and smugness radiate off her. 

_You’re in so much trouble_ , she thinks, knowing her soul hears her. They both know that it’s a lie.


End file.
